


Noon the Next Day

by endemictoearth



Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4934935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endemictoearth/pseuds/endemictoearth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little meet-cute AU inspired by a line from a prompt list: “I fell asleep on your couch after a party but you didn’t complain and made breakfast for the both of us”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noon the Next Day

**Author's Note:**

> So, here’s a one-shot (not to be continued because I have way too many wip, you guys). Halfway through writing this, I was reminded of a little fic by howlinchickhowl, and I referenced it in this fic. (You’ll just have to read it to find out how!) 
> 
> This really is just a bit of nothing much, but sometimes I like that … just some hangover-head, who-IS-this-girl feels (typed ‘feelsings’ at first and I am LOVING that.)

Finn forced one eye open, squinting against the light. He tried for the second eye, but couldn’t muster the energy. Or the courage. Though he was still lying on his back, he managed to slump further into the pillows somehow, and flung an arm across his face, trying to keep the light out.

He groaned, bemoaning the fact that he was awake, and hadn’t slept until his hangover headache was just a dull thud. He’d woken near its peak, but couldn’t fall back asleep.

“Might as well face the fuckin’ day,” he muttered into the crook of his elbow. Sitting was an adventure for his brain; it took far longer than usual to orient which way was up, and his heart seemed to be hammering much louder and faster than usual. “Fuckin’ Chop,” he groused. Whenever he felt like this the morning after a party, he knew who to blame. Chop was a top mate, but the worst instigator of all time. He’d instigated the party at Finn’s, instigated a fucking 50 liter keg somehow—like they were in some American frat comedy, instigated round after round of vile tasting novelty shots, instigated his current state of misery.

“All these fuckin’ parties,” he grumbled to himself as he padded to the toilet. He leaned against the wall with one hand as he pissed for what seemed like an age. Not surprising, the quantity of liquid refreshment he had imbibed the previous night. He flushed, ran his hands under the tap, then splashed some water on his face, staring into his own bloodshot eyes in the mirror over the sink. Sighing heavily, he walked back into his room, picked a t-shirt off the pile in the corner of his room, sniffed it, shrugged, and pulled it on over his head. He adjusted the waist on his boxers, and took a deep breath before heading downstairs to face the destruction wreaked by Hurricane Chop and his band of merry miscreants.

His legs thunked down the stairs, gravity doing most of the work of walking for him. At the bottom landing, he glanced around, surprised it wasn’t more wrecked. Down and around into the dining room where they had set up this disgusting game involving a hundred plastic cups, Finn was stunned to see they were cleared away, and the table looked like it had been wiped clean. He backtracked to the lounge and found that to be fairly tidy, as well. It was really quiet, except for the light snore of someone sleeping on the sofa.

“Chop,” he said, betting that for once his friend had felt bad about destroying someone’s home in the name of a good time, and had actually stayed to clean. He strode over to the sofa and pulled back the houndstooth blanket covering the sleeping figure. Instead of Chop’s close-cropped muddy blonde hair, Finn saw a pile of long, dark locks, falling into the face of whoever was cuddled close to the back of the couch. His eyebrows huddled together in confusion. He pulled the blanket down a little more, and the figure shifted, rolling from her side to her back and stretching a little, eyes still closed. Her back arched as she grunted a little whine from the back of her throat. Then, her eyes fluttered open.

Finn stepped back, dropping the blanket on top her, trying to pretend like he hadn’t just been staring at her sleeping, or innocently examining her tits.

He looked away, trying to recollect if he’d met her, if he knew her. She looked vaguely familiar, but he would have remembered hanging out with her, talking to her.

She blinked at the ceiling for a few seconds, then once at Finn, before sitting bolt upright, and stammering, “O-ohmygod, I’m so sorry. I-I meant to wake up and bugger off before you got up. I just … sorry.” She flailed a bit, getting the blanket off of her, and stood, tottering for a second, then held a hand to her head. “Jesus,” she muttered, glancing about. “Where the fuck are me shoes?”

Finn stepped forward, arm outstretched to indicate that she should relax. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I think I should be thankin’ you. Sit down, okay?”

The girl squinted at him distrustfully. “Thankin’ me?”

Finn swept his outstretched arm around the room. “Was this you?”

“Oh, the—yeah, I tidied up a bit. No problem. I was …” She chewed the inside of her lip for a moment. “… waitin’ for my mate, Chloe, to come back and get me, but …”

Finn winced. “Oh, no. Abandoned. Sorry about that.” He quickly gave her a once-over, as she sank back onto the sofa and wasn’t paying attention. In a curious tone, he asked, “You’re friends wi’ Chloe?”

She scoffed. “Yeah, you could say that. Been mates since we were in infants, but if we met today …” she waved her hand to convey that they probably wouldn’t hit it off.

“Ah, I see.” Finn perched on the arm of the sofa. He stared down at his nail-bitten fingers, not sure what to say next. His hangover wasn’t helping him form coherent thoughts. In the end, he went with, “I’m Finn. This is my house.” He winced again, at his dumb mouth.

But, the girl actually smiled at that. “I know,” she said. “I’m Rae.”

He cocked his head fractionally, that typically male name not seeming to match this girl. But also, it somehow seemed to fit her perfectly at the same time. She sighed, “As in Rachel. But don’t call me Rachel, please.”

He held his hands up in surrender. The gesture said, “I would never!”

She smiled a little wider and then made as if to stand. “I probably should get out of here. Sorry for kippin’ on your sofa, but I didn’t know what else to do. Couldn’t go back to Chloe’s without Chlo. Her parents would blow a collective gasket.”

Finn felt a panic at her announcement. He didn’t want her to go. He didn’t even know her, but he knew he wanted her to stay a bit. “Uh, sure, if you need to, but I was just about to make some tea. And maybe some bacon sandwiches, to soak up this reservoir of booze I drank last night.” He laughed softly.

Rae paused, looking unsure.

“Just … feel like I owe you somethin’ for clearin’ up last night. It were dead good of ya, even if it was to kill time.” He grinned at her, and was rewarded with another smile, this one a little sheepish.

“A cuppa does sound lovely,” she conceded.

He nodded, feeling relieved, and held his hand out to help her up. She stared at his fingers with mild distrust, but gingerly took hold as she used her own force to propel herself off the couch.

“Uh, thanks,” she muttered.

Finn shrugged and walked in the direction of the kitchen. Even this room wasn’t as terrible as Finn had been expecting.

“I, uh, sorta lost steam in here,” Rae said, apology in her voice. “Sor—“

Finn turned to look at her, incredulous. “Don’t you dare apologize!” he cut her off.

She flinched, and now he felt bad. “Hey, I—I was just tryin’ to say I appreciate it. I really owe ya somethin’ now, seein’ this.”

Rae smiled down at her Converse. Finn smiled at her, goofily, until her eyes met his and he snapped out of it. “Sorry. Right. Tea.”

He filled the kettle and switched it on, as he began to rummage around the fridge for some bacon and butter and other bits and bobs for the sandwiches. When he resurfaced, Rae was shifting her weight uncomfortably as she leaned against the counter.

“Uh, do you mind, um …” He nodded at the cabinet behind her. “There are mugs in the cupboard there.”

She straightened up and turned to investigate. When she turned back, she had two mugs in one hand, but the door was still open. “Is there anyone else about?” she asked.

He hadn’t even thought. It was supremely strange not have half a dozen of his mates strewn round the place after a bash like last night’s. “Uh, not sure.” He put down the butter knife and peeked out into the back garden. No one there. He hadn’t seen anyone in his inspection. Then he glanced at the clock. “Well, shit. It’s after noon. Everyone must have buggered off, especially seeing as the place was un-trashed by a magical pixie.” He smiled broadly at Rae, only to find her face looking mortified.

“NOON?” she squawked. “Oh, shit. Shitting shittingtons. Ummmm, can I use your phone? Or, actually …” she bit her lip. “Could YOU use your phone? Call Chloe’s house and ask for her? If I call …”

Finn nodded. “Sure, sure, don’t worry.” He picked the receiver of the wall and turned to look at Rae in inquiry. “Uh, what’s her number?”

Curiously, Rae smiled at that. Then she shook her head to recall the numbers, rattling them off “ … 0-1-8,” she finished, and he punched in the last digit, waiting for the phone to ring. When a woman’s voice answered, he panicked a bit, looking at Rae with wide eyes. “Uhh,” he cleared his throat and lowered by voice a bit. “I-is Chloe there?”

“She’s not back from her friend’s house yet; she spent the night. Can I take a message?”

“Uh, no, no, that’s alright. I’ll see her ‘round, maybe. Thanks.” He hung up. “She apparently spent the night at a friend’s house?” he reported, eyebrow raised.

“That bitch,” Rae muttered. “If she doesn’t turn up, it’ll be me that gets in trouble. Shit.” She set the mugs down on the counter, clenching her fists by her sides, the roiling boil rumbling in the kettle behind her seeming to match her mood.

“Don’t worry; I’m sure she doesn’t want to get caught, or for you to, either.” The kettle clicked off and the boil subsided. “D’ya mind makin’ the tea, while I start on this?” Finn asked.

Rae nodded angrily, but followed his nods around the kitchen to find the tea bags, sugar, spoons, and she could work out where the milk was herself.

Finn had gotten a pan out and was frying the bacon. The third time he cursed as he was hit with a spit of fat, Rae sighed and handed him the plain black apron that his dad had hung on a peg by the oven.

“This won’t save me arms,” he whined.

“Yeah, but it’ll save your Roses shirt,” she replied, quirking her lips.

“Uh, yeah, good thinkin’,” he nodded, not wanting to get any more grease on the white tee with their original album cover on it. Once it was tied, Finn turned back to ask, “How many d’ya want?”

“How many what?”

“Sarnies.” He drained the fat into the pitcher from the fridge and put it back on the gas ring to crisp up.

“Oh, no thanks. None for me,” she picked up a spoon and asked “How do you take it?”

“Hmm? Oh, tea? Uhh, milk and two sugars. Nah, make it three.” She nodded and got to shoveling sugar into the mugs. “You sure you don’t want one? I made enough for, like, four.” The toast he’d put in popped up like a period to punctuate his sentence.

“Tea’s good,” she said, lightly, her response being punctuated by a growl of her stomach. She visibly winced, but didn’t turn around.

“Okay, that means you’re hungry. Natural response,” Finn said. “I’m makin’ one for ya, anyway.”

Rae bit her lip and did an adorably confusing half nod/half shake of her head, looking down into her mug intently.

“You don’t hafta eat it, but I hafta make it, yeah?”

Her head was more nod than shake at hearing this.

She brought the teas over to the small table by the window, where Finn and his dad ate most of their meals at home. The dining room was something his mum had decorated, back when she thought she’d be a good wife and mother, entertaining friends and family, back before she’d left. They’d never bothered to change it into a usable space. Hell, even a ping-pong table would be better than the strange formal cherrywood table and chairs that only got used when Finn got wheedled into having a party.

Finn’s mind wandered back from his reminiscences to the task at hand, and he turned the burner off just before the bacon turned from crispy to tough, and put the bacon on the buttered toast. He opened the fridge to grab two bottles and brought everything over to the table, one plate teetering slightly.

Rae grabbed it and set it down, Finn gave her a grateful smile, and took a second to think how odd it was that this didn’t feel odd at all. Having breakfast in his house with a virtual stranger. How strange it was that she didn’t feel strange in the least.

He shifted in his seat to get more comfortable, then leaned forward. “Now,  _should_ you decide to partake of this feast …” he raised his eyebrows and leaned forward over his plate conspiratorially. “… there is one crucial question you’ll have to answer.”

A look of worry flashed across Rae’s features. He instantly felt bad for making her forehead ripple and her delicious-looking mouth twist, but he continued.

“Heinz ketchup, or HP sauce?”

She bit back a relieved smile. “Well, if I find I can manage it, I like a bit of both, actually.”

Finn sat back, stunned. “So do I!” he marveled. No one, in his whole bacon-sandwich-eating existence, had ever liked them both together like he did.

Her shoulders relaxed a fraction; he hadn’t even noticed how tense she was until she loosened up. She licked her bottom lip, unconsciously, and Finn found himself gripping the tabletop with his free hand. “What proportions, though?” she asked, her voice too innocent not to know that she was piquing his interest.

“Proportions? Nah, just a dollop of both, mash the toast on top to mix it up.” He demonstrated, then took a big bite, closing his eyes like it was the best thing he’d ever eaten. It was pretty good, if he did say so himself.

“Well, if you’re an amateur, sure.” Rae reached forward for a sandwich, took the top piece of toast off, and went for the HP sauce first. She shook out a big dollop, then looked around the table, picking up her teaspoon, and popping it in her mouth to suck the remnants of tea off it. Finn’s knuckles whitened again, as he stared at her, fascinated. She used the back of the spoon to evenly distribute the sauce, then added a smaller dollop of ketchup in the center, and fanned it out over the top of the brown stuff. Then, she carefully placed the toast on top of the bacon, lined up the slices and picked it up, squeezing gently to coat the bacon with the sauces. She took a deep breath and then took a bite. Small, but she’d gotten some of everything, unlike Finn, who didn’t taste the sauce until three bites in.

“That was … inspiring,” Finn said, completely serious.

Rae laughed and picked up her sandwich as Finn opened his back up to more evenly distribute the sauces. When he looked back up, she was chewing again, and he smiled, taking a bite of his own.

A moment later, there was a frantic knock on the back door. Finn stood up, and Rae whipped her head around, dropping her sandwich back onto her plate.

Finn looked down and realized, finally, that he’d been interacting with this top bird in his bloomin’ pants. “Shit,” he whispered, but walked around to see who it was.

Ah. Chloe.

“Hiya, Finn, is Rae still here? I mean, she probably isn’t but—“

Rae appeared next to him, a hand on her hip, looking at Chloe with a mixture of reproof and concern. “And just where the fuck did you get to last night?”

“I—I snuck away to meet me boyfriend, an’ we fell asleep … after … an’ I was gonna tell ya that you were my alibi, but I forgot, an’ …” Chloe ran out of words or energy or possibly both.

“Oh, the boyfriend I’m not allowed to meet?” Rae asked, an edge of accusation in her voice.

Chloe looked down at her platform sandals guiltily.

After a moment of awkwardness, Rae sighed heavily. “It’s alright, ya daft cow,” Rae said, genially. “I had Finn call your mum’s house, to see if you were there. I don’t think she’s any the wiser. And MY mum’s … well, she’s a little distracted just at presently. So, I think we’ll get away wi’ it.”

Chloe sighed in relief, and tugged uncomfortably on the hem of her dress, which was about three inches away from being a top. Rae took off her flannel and handed it to Chloe. “‘Ere, y’can borrow this. Cover your shame, y’slag.” Finn turned to give her a look of horror, but found Rae was smiling and rolling her eyes. Chloe chuckled, too. “An, c’mon in, we’re havin’ breakfast. Well, whatever.”

Chloe smiled and looked at Finn, then glanced down to his boxers, one eyebrow climbing up her forehead a fraction or two.

“Yeah, come in,” he said, lamely. “I’ll … um, I’ll be back in a tick.”

As he started to the front to nip upstairs for his jeans, he heard Chloe whisper. “ _Who’s_ the slag?” and Rae’s eyes got big as saucers before she hit Chloe’s bicep with the back of her open palm. “Shut up; like there’s a chance in hell that someone like him would ever. With me? No way.”

Finn kept moving forward, but slowly, his heart sinking with every step.

When he came back down, he picked up his sandwich, which had gone a bit cold. Felt like the whole day had gone a bit stale. Rae had finished her sandwich in his absence, and Chloe had opened one of the others to pick out a piece of bacon. He cleared his throat. Rae looked up at the clock.

“Shit. Almost one. We should …” she looked at Chloe, who nodded in agreement.

Finn stood up to see them out. “Hey, thanks again, for clearin’ up,”

Rae shrugged. “No problem.”

He opened the front door, and Chloe stepped out first. Rae paused for a millisecond, which was long enough for Finn to say, “Maybe I’ll see ya around, yeah? Like, if you feel up for a pint later … some of us will be at the pub.”

Rae pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Um, yeah, maybe. If I’m not grounded until the millennium, that is.” She skipped down the stairs to meet Chloe, and glanced over her shoulder to flash Finn a quick smile. He reflexively smiled back, waved farewell, and thought, “Best fucking party ever.”


End file.
